The Guy
by SoDunne
Summary: After being attacked by Triple H, Roman Reigns is back. But he's not the same. He has one thing in mind, winning the WWE World Heavyweight Championship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, it's 2 AM and I'm feeling bold. This doc has been sitting, getting old. I've decided to try out something new, I guess. It's a work in progress, but I wanted to get the first chapter out. Expect slow updates, and a few twists on interactions between people that you probably wouldn't think much about.**

 **This is a work of fiction, something I'm making up as I go along.**

 **And trust me, I read it and shook my head at myself. No, it's nothing crazy. Just different for me.**

* * *

Roman found himself standing in front of a vending machine, staring at the options as he stood there. He held his fist beneath his chin, spreading his index and middle fingers to cover his mouth as he contemplated getting plain M&M's or the peanut ones.

He smirked to himself, thinking that it was nice to just be able to stand there all by himself. If he were being honest, he was standing there just to see who'd approach him first — whether they wanted to talk about his new attitude change or simply wanted to be nosy. Either way, he was waiting to see how much longer he'd get away with being out in the open because someone was bound to cross a boundary.

And whoever the brave soul would be, would get a fist to the face because he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He was feeling annoyed by Dean — he'd thought he was over the irritation and hurt that accompanied Dean's past few promos but the rift had grown by just a seeing his friend. And he knew that Dean was probably still licking his wounds from Roadblock while his girlfriend Renee coddled him because she was too afraid to tell him off. He'd had time to think about it during his absence and he'd concluded that he'd seen enough of Dean's playful behavior to know that it was a front. His best friend was fun and goofy so he could believably get away with saying whatever he wanted and Renee — and anyone else who'd defend him —wouldn't think much of his inflammatory remarks.

 _You're glad Roman won over me, because you know I'd beat you._

Those words echoed over and over again — taunting the Samoan as he stared into the reflective glass of the vending machine. He pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes, sighing loudly as he turned his back to the machine. He dropped his hands and laughed bitterly, a slow, dark laugh that would worry his mother if she'd heard it.

The situation was hilariously unfunny to him — there he was, essentially a wanted man by the Authority because he'd come back and placed authentic backstage heat on himself, but instead of worrying about that, he was thinking about how much he hated Dean for getting away with so much — he couldn't help but laugh. He hadn't thought about it until he was at home, sitting on his couch, watching recorded episodes of RAW. He found himself thinking back to every time he'd tried to be himself — every time he'd tried to connect with the WWE Universe and all the times they'd just dug their heels in and booed him on principle alone. The idea that someone Vince McMahon liked was trash, holding him back. He thought back to every time _the powers that be_ threw Dean or his cousins out in the ring to save him. Even in his Shield days, he was the one that was told to just shut up and look intimidating because the crowd needed to get used to the idea that he could be in a group with Dean and Seth.

Roman sneered as he turned back to the vending machine, holding back his urge to punch a hole through the glass.

He was just tired — tired of getting told no — exhausted by the idea that he couldn't be and do better than men he shouldn't have even been compared to. He was tired of working in the shadow of men that didn't work like they have something to prove. He was bitter — way angrier than he could admit. So he lashed out finally, but Hunter would be okay in the long run. So what if he tossed his boss around for a couple weeks? After all the hell Stephanie McMahon and her husband had been putting him through lately, Roman figured a few punches to Hunter's jaw were long overdue. The grudge ran back all the way to the beginning of his career.

He shook his head, closing his eyes to control the boiling rage that was coiling in his stomach, telling him to just punch something — he needed to calm down. He'd already broken one TV on Triple H's back, he didn't think his paycheck needed anymore unnecessary deductions. Even though it would be fun to see how many more things he could turn into abstract weapons. _Maybe I'll take a bat to a commentary monitor,_ Roman mused, chuckling to himself as he stuck two dollars into the money slot of the vending machine. He looked at the number on the label for the peanut M&M's, saying it aloud as he pressed the buttons. He grabbed the yellow package, leaning back against the snack dispenser as he ripped the corner of the package.

He nearly ran into someone as he moved to walk down the hallway. it did no favors for his mood as he realized who it was. Stephanie McMahon — Miss glutton for attention herself —stood there in front of him. Her gold necklace reflected light from the overheads set up in the hallways, nearly blinding him.

"What do you think you're doing?" She asked, her anger evident in the same screechy rasp her voice ended up taking on when she addressed the universe.

"What's it look like?" Roman answered coolly, popping a red M&M in his mouth as he gave her a shit eating grin. If she knew he was in a bad mood, she didn't show it. She stood before him, completely oblivious to the murderous thoughts in his head.

"I can see you," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, looking him up and down as she took a step closer to him. "But what I don't get —what's not clicking for me — " she paused, poking her finger into his shoulder aggressively "what makes you think you have the right to show up to my arena after that stunt you pulled last week." He looked down where she'd just assaulted his shoulder, his mouth upturned in a disgusted sneer. She stared up at him, scowling at him as if he were to be intimidated. He rolled his eyes.

"A stunt, huh?" He smirked, giving her a dry chuckle. "You liked that didn't you? I mean, I did." He shrugged, leaning against the wall as she took a cautious step away from him. "Beating your husbands ass all over backstage was a good time. Where is poor Mr. Stephanie McMahon?"

"Hunter isn't here tonight." She answered him, affronted by his bold disregard—her jaw shifted side to side as she turned her head to watch him. "But it has nothing to do with that little tantrum you threw last Monday. He has business to attend to."

Roman snorted, tossing more candy into his mouth as he laughed. His neck and shoulders rolled to show just how unserious he was being with her. "Business? You mean some company chores you send him on so he can feel like he's actually a part of the family?"

Stephanie faltered, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she huffed. He'd never seen a woman over the age of twenty-five get as red in the face as she had. She actually looked like she'd explode at any second. "Are you trying to get fired?"

"Who's gonna fire me?" He asked, his chin tucked toward his chest as he watched her. He held the half eaten bag of M&M's, scratching his unshaven beard with the same hand as he pretended to think of a response to her question. She stood there, tapping her foot on the concrete floor, staring at him intently. He hated her — all the way from soles of her feet to the top of her head — he couldn't stand her or her self-righteous attitude. Just the idea that she wanted everyone to bend to her will made him want to tell her to go fuck herself. However, he still had a semblance of decorum because she was a woman and be was raised to never be _that_ disrespectful. He took the top of his enclosed hand and swiped his nose before rolling his eyes at her. "We both know you can't fire me."

"The hell I can't!" Stephanie hollered, getting in his face again.

"Get the fuck outta here with all that yellin'." He laughed, not caring that she was technically his boss. He just didn't care anymore. "Look, you and me both know you ain't got the power to actually fire anybody." He chortled obnoxiously. There were no cameras around and they sure as hell weren't in front of a crowd following a script— she couldn't fire him more than he could get away with starting a random fight with someone, "I'm sure daddy dearest saw what happened last week — he saw the way I beat Triple H's ass. If you could fire me — if I wasn't _best for business_ — i'd be fired already."

"Listen you ungrateful son of a bitch, the only reason you still have a job is because–"

"Because what, Stephanie?" Roman asked, cutting her off, holding his hand to her face, "Like I said, you can't and won't fire me. And whether you like it or not, I'm gonna beat him for the championship at 'mania. Sorry."

She stared at him, her jaw slackened and her eyes staring daggers at him — she'd look deadly to anyone else. "You bastard." She chuckled — she was impressed really, but also highly agitated. He remembered a time when his reaction would have been anything but an eye roll but he had a new attitude. He didn't care if he pissed everyone off. He was back to get what was his, what he earned. And the Billion Dollar Princess herself wasn't even a blip on his radar.

He walked away from her with a satisfied smirk. He was sure she'd tear into him on screen later that night but he took the victory. He'd revel in all the small victories.

No one said much when he walked throughout the backstage area, nothing above their breaths. He commanded silence with his quiet confidence and a level of swagger no one had the courage to discount. It would only take so much for him to turn around and punch someone straight in the nose — especially since Stephanie had already made his anger worse. Miz remembered the clean right he got hit with just for asking a simple question. He'd been back for a week, angrier, hungrier. He'd attacked Triple H on the night he came back — brutally and masterfully. And the champion had tried to fight back, but it was futile and only made his beating worse, getting hit with a TV ripped from a wall.

He took longer strides as he walked, no one stood around to see where he was headed — he caught curious glances as he continued eating his candy covered gobs of chocolate like no one had seen his confrontation with their 'boss'.

He'd taken over a locker room from someone — having neatly set their things outside the door. No one would mess with him in the state he was in. And no one could outright blame him either. Triple H and Stephanie were the biggest pains in the ass around in the last couple years. The roster was thankful for some sort of interference in their tyrannical reign.

As he attempted to shut his door, a foot shot out, blocking his attempt to close out any bothersome people. It was obviously someone with a death wish.

"And where the hell have you been?" Asked Dean Ambrose — the man who had been his only friend — as soon as he pushed his way into the room. When Roman didn't answer, Dean rolled his eyes as he was let in without a word. "Roman! Helloooo…" Dean continued annoyingly, waving his hand in Roman's face, not noticing the deep breath the newly returned man drew in. "As your bestfriend, I'm insulted."

"Go away," Roman muttered, sounding exhausted by the thought that he would have to engage in friendly banter — it would have been fake — all he wanted to do was punch the man before him. But he took a calming inhale and sat down on a chair in front of a cubby in the wall. When Dean stood there, with his taped hands on his hips, Roman looked up at him, "For real. Make yourself scarce, my dude."

"Oh," Dean laughed, holding his hand to his chest, "Am I supposed to be intimidated?" Roman rolled his eyes at his brother's insistent behavior. Dean smiled, "I called you, Motherfucker. Like twice everyday." The rugged man reminded him, as if he somehow earned brownie points for attempting to reach out — when phone calls were nothing compared to what Roman had done for Dean in the past.

"Worried much?" Roman asked amusedly. Okay, so he'd bite — play along until he was beyond irritated. He didn't want to blame Dean or even be mad at him. They'd been friends for too long, been through too much together for him to completely write Dean off. But he could only tolerate so much before his brain shut off reason and his anger bubbled over. And no matter that he wanted to stay angry— no matter how much he wanted to hate everyone —Dean was so stubborn, he'd stay despite anything Roman would do or say. And knowing the man who he'd considered his best friend, Roman knew Dean would probably help him hide evidence in a murder case — even though that only seemed plausible if there were something in it for himself.

"Where'd you run off to?" Dean asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against a locker.

"'Bout my business." Roman answered tiredly, tossing the empty yellow M&M's wrapper into the black bin by the door —cockily smirking when the balled up plastic landed in the trash.

"Your business is my business." Dean retorted, not missing a beat. "In case you forgot." He smirked, scratching his surprisingly clean fingernails into his five o'clock shadow. When he let his hands fall back to his side, he smiled and prompted his friend. "So, try again."

Roman smiled, bowing his head — his first off guard smile in weeks — nodding. Running a hand through his long, dark hair, Roman sighed. "I just needed some time." There was a long, pregnant pause between the two friends. A shift in the atmosphere — new tension built up. Roman still wanted to be left alone and he could tell something was off with Dean. He had watched Dean on TV over the last few weeks —taking in everything and every sly remark Dean had made. What stuck out the most was the implication that Dean made when he said Triple H was glad that someone other than himself had won at Fastlane, because Triple H knew he could beat Roman. It hurt. It hurt that Dean, like everyone else, had written him off already.

"How's the nose?" Dean asked, referring to the injured part of his best friend's face. He knew Roman knew about the things he said —he couldn't bring himself to say something about it. He wanted to say he was just talking out of his ass for the support of the crowd, but was he? Didn't he mean what he said? He had at the time. And a small part of him still did believe he was better than Roman — that he deserved the shot at Wrestlemania more. But he'd lost at Roadblock. He just wanted a do-over.

He looked at Roman with baited breath, hoping the person closest to him for the last several years, didn't hate him like he hated himself at the moment — when he really looked at himself. He hoped that the last look they'd share wouldn't be one where Roman was taking back every moment he'd spent with him — hoping that he'd remember how special every, however insignificant the moment, was to him. Dean would hold on to them because in his heart, they probably did mean more to him than they did to Roman.

"There was nothing wrong with it in the first place." Roman shrugged, openly admitting that somewhere down the line, someone came up with that story to excuse why he'd been gone for three weeks. He didn't see the moment Dean exhaled a nervous breath. He needed the time to regroup and come up with some sort of game plan because Triple H was playing dirty. "Just did a lot of bleeding. Got hit a lot."

Dean laughed, shaking his head and point at him, "Dude, it looked like a bee on steroids stung you."

"Hardy fucking har." Roman sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Did you want something, or just want to bug me for the next few hours before the show?"

Dean fake gasped. "I haven't seen you in weeks and that's how you talk to me?"

"How else am I supposed to talk to you?" Roman answered gruffly, a renewed anger toward the man he called family.

"Don't be an ass." Dean rolled his eyes. He knew how Roman could be when he was feeling confrontational — he didn't take it to heart. He knew what he had said. He knew that by just challenging Triple H for the title he had tested Roman's chances. If he'd won, he would have been the one facing Roman — or worse, Roman would have to fight for a shot, again.

"Are you gonna leave?" Roman asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked up from his folded hands in his lap. "Cause I'm really tired of talking to you right now." Truth is, he was tired. Exhausted by the pleasant conversation and the constant repeating of the same sentiments. Dean was good at playing the same game every day when really, they'd grown apart a long time ago —they just kept getting thrown back together because the fade hadn't played out on screen.

Dean huffed, a short exhale of a chuckle through his nose, he shook his head. "Fine. I'll go. But under protest."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This plot bunny is alive and kicking in my brain guys. Alive and very well.**

* * *

He wasn't sure what he'd said or done when he was out in the middle of the ring with Stephanie. But what he did know was that it was probably messy and completely unprofessional. And from the looks he was getting from people, he was entirely sure of it. He took a stop at his locker room, grabbing a black zip up hoodie and put it on, finding his headphones before starting down the hallway. He felt around his pockets to make sure he had his phone — even though if he was without it, he wouldn't have gone back to get it. He hadn't planned to get to catering, but he figured he could just sit at a table and be left alone — everyone was avoiding him anyway.

He could see his co workers actively avoiding eye contact as he grabbed a bottle of water and an orange. Paige would have said hi to him already but she simply stared at him with her head titled to the side. Turning away from the table of food, he pinpointed a corner and slowly walked over — making sure to eye certain people which made it clear they weren't to talk to him.

He sunk into a chair, with the metal legs scraping the floor as he scooted back. Hunching over, he stuck his headphones over his ears, letting music fill the quiet. He peeled his orange and started to think of something to do to prove what he'd said when he challenged the Authority. But nothing was coming to mind. He ended up just thinking about his earlier conversation with Dean. He felt bad about how he handled that conversation but he couldn't bring himself to shoot Dean a quick text to apologize. He couldn't tell if he actually felt sorry enough.

A scowl settled on his face.

Someone grabbed the side of his headphones, ripping them from his head. Roman turned abruptly ready to yell at whoever it was until he saw that it was a family member.

Naomi snickered, crossing her arms on the table as she sat next to him. "What that orange do to you?" She asked, bringing it to his attention that he was peeling the fruit angrily.

He rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together, dropping the orange on the table as if to tell her he was done. She flipped her newly dyed hair over her shoulder and watched him.

"Waddya want?" He asked, wanting to sound like he was mad but she snorted.

"Boy, if you don't stop acting like anyone 'round here scared'a you…" she laughed, throwing her feet onto the table.

"Don't you have divas to be tormenting?" He asked her, smiling at her despite himself.

Smiling — her white teeth nearly blinding him — she took his orange and ripped a piece off, "I'm taking a break." She sighed, sitting back. Making a face, his eyebrow raised as he tilted his head up slightly. After a short pause, she bit her lip.

"What, 'Omi?" He asked, sighing. "You gonna lecture me?" He rubbed his hands together, and up his arms. She could tell he was uncomfortable and uncertain.

She shook her head, "Nope." Shrugging, she took his water and took a swig — he rolled his eyes but couldn't not smile at her — before she continued. "I just think you should know that we support you."

The corners of Roman's mouth dropped, before his lips skewed to one side. He was quiet and unsure of what he should feel about that. He wasn't about starting a one man crusade against the Authority, he had just wanted his championship back and would enjoy beating Hunter up for it. "That's — who exactly?"

Naomi sucked her teeth, looking at him like he was dumb for not knowing. "Everyone, Fool." She said, clipping the back of his head with her hand. When he looked at her with a deadpanned expression, she grinned.

"Who's everyone?" He asked, his eyes widening as his chin dropped forward and he shook his head.

With a long, dramatic sigh, she started listing off names. "Me, Jimmy, Jey, 'Mina, Sasha-"

He held up his hand to stop her from continuing, "Got it. Okay. Cool." Ducking as she lunged to hit him again. He laughed.

"Okay, good. He's not homicidal anymore." Another voice became clear, and the sound of a chair sliding on the floor cut through Roman and Naomi's laughter.

Roman looked up quizzically, "Jimmy, did you really send your wife over here to -"

"Hell yeah." Jimmy laughed, nodding as he sat down. "I wasn't trynna get hit with one of the TVs on the wall." He joked, leaning over to steal a kiss from Naomi. She rolled her eyes but complied and then pushed him away playfully. Jimmy looked back at Roman. "Do you even remember how crazy that was?"

"That shit was wild." Jey said, appearing with a full plate of food in his hand as he sat down too. He stabbed at a leaf of lettuce as he stared at his cousin, "You were yelling plain nonsense man."

Roman scratched the back of his head, the bun he'd wrapped it in wobbled as his finger dug into the back of his scalp. He blew out a breath, embarrassed. "Is it bad that I don't even remember what I was doing half of that time?"

Naomi's lips puckered, displaying the struggle she was having to snap at him. Jimmy and Jey looked at each other, obviously talking without actually talking. Abruptly, Jimmy's head turned back to Roman and he laughed. "Anyway…"

"Why are you guys sitting over here, looking like a group of serial killers?" Another voice asked from a few feet away. Looking up, they saw it was Sasha, dressed in jeans and a cropped top version of her WWE t-shirt. She had a hoodie on like Roman and her hair was up in curlers.

Naomi laughed. "It's not even that dark over here."'

Roman dropped his head and his forearms onto the table in exasperation. He should have known he would never actually be left alone — they would have found him in his locker room too. He couldn't be upset. He felt lighter, like the weight of being alone had been lifted.

"Wait, pause." Jimmy said, holding his hands up in the time out sign. "Weren't y'all two just beefin'?"

"What?" Sasha asked, shifting her weight onto one leg. She had her hands upturned as she watched him. Both she and Naomi were looking at him.

"Uce," Jimmy reach across the table and touched Roman and Jey's forearms — obviously asking them to cut in — but both his twin and cousin looked at him like he was on his own. "Man I coulda sworn you got jumped by…" His words faded away as his wife shook her head and shook her hand by her neck, telling him to stop.

Both Sasha and Naomi knew what he was talking about. Sasha had broken off from team B.A.D. but they were over that little rift. But they hadn't really talked about it. "What are you talking about?" Sasha asked, fighting a smile, knowing full-well what he was referring to.

Roman watched the scene, mentally mapping out a way to escape from the table. Jey looked at him, his lips pursed, telling him he knew what he was thinking.

"So, what are you planning to do about Triple H?" Jey asked, changing the subject.

With a sigh, Roman shrugged. "I was thinking about that when I was so rudely interrupted by your sister-in-law over here."

"Booooooy," Naomi sucked her teeth, crossing her arms to slap her hand to his forearm. "You wasn't doin' nothin' but sittin' here assaulting that orange."

Roman rolled his eyes again as the rest of the table laughed.

"So you don't have a plan?" Sasha asked, cutting through the noise everyone else was making. She noticed the taken-aback look on his face but thought nothing of it.

"Nope." Roman answered anyway — despite not really knowing her. He took a large gulp of water and his free hand flipped in an well it is what it is gesture.

"We figured you and Dean would be planning your homicidal shit together." Jimmy laughed. When he saw that Roman's posture stiffened, he looked confused. "What?"

"Nothing." Roman tried to play off the awkward way the air around them seemed to fill with silence.

"You guys not talking?" Naomi asked, pouting.

"Can y'all stay outta my business for 5 minutes?" Roman snapped, his arms outstretched onto the table.

"No." They all answered at the same time.

"Well I'm not talking about this with you guys." Roman huffed, crossing his arms. He himself didn't know what was going on with his friendship with Dean. He didn't know if he wanted them to continue being each other's crutches — he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was just misplaced anger or if it was actual, real, justified resentment.

"What, you don't like him anymore?" Naomi asked jokingly, "He steal your hair conditioner or somethin'?"

"Funny." Roman faked a smile, letting out a mocking laugh. The corners of her mouth curved upward into a smirk as she flipped her hair dramatically. "I'm just not sure I like him very much right now. And he's a distraction. It's not that deep."

"Well you better figure it out…" Sasha muttered, "Cause he sure likes you."

It took Roman a few seconds to realize what she'd just said to him. Then he played the implication in his head, over and over until it really clicked, "What?"

Naomi panicked, "Oh, shit." She chuckled nervously, "When did it get so late?" She grabbed Sasha by the arm, giving her a look that read: you fucked up. They smiled awkwardly, Naomi kissing Jimmy on the side of his face, "We gotta go." She was dragging her friend away before any of the three men could say anything.

"What?" Roman repeated, irritated and confused. He hit his hand against Jey's chest, "What the fuck was she talking about?"

They looked at each other, the twins not knowing how to handle how awkward the situation just got. Roman was growing more agitated as the seconds ticked by.

"Man, you know how people just talk shit." Jimmy started, clearing his throat, "It's probably just some rumor she heard."

"Well that's not gonna be something I'm involved in." Roman muttered, still trying to process, "I'm here to get my championship... rumors, whatever, I don't care. This ain't that."

* * *

Roman dragged his bags behind him as he headed toward where his car was parked. His adrenaline was still pumping from the attack on Triple H in the parking garage. His hands were sore from hitting Hunter as hard as he had. He'd avoided everyone since then, dodging Renee — actually ignoring her when she'd stopped him after his attack on their boss — and waited until the show was over to avoid anyone else.

He made his way out the double doors, not paying attention to where he was actually going because he'd gotten used to people moving around him. But of course, there had to be an exception.

His hand reached out to grab whoever it was because the person was smaller — much, much, smaller — a tiny ooomf accompanying the impact of their face and his chest. He realized it was a woman when he looked down to see who he was cradling against his chest. Her forehead pressed to his sternum and he could feel her release the tension from the impact of their bodies colliding. Tiny hands clutched the back of his shoulders like she was still falling. She was crying. He was confused. Had he hit her that hard? Jesus Christ. He didn't have time for this.

"Look," he started, thinking of a way to get her off of him without being rude. "I didn't mean to hit you as hard as I did. I should have been watching where I was headed. My fault." He felt her start to pull away, curly hair blowing in the breeze of the dark night. He knew her — obviously — but for the life of him he couldn't remember her name.

She quickly wiped at her widened eyes to flick away tears, "It's okay. I turned and just rammed right into — Im a clutz." She tried to laugh, but she sounded more pained than anything. She still hadn't stepped away from him fully — her hands still gripped his waist — his grip on her forearms as he inspected her for injuries didn't loosen. His conscience wouldn't be able to handle hurting her or anyone else besides The Authority. He was being a paradox of his new self — a monster with a conscience. He told himself he'd work on that. He left destruction in his path from the week since he'd been back — a few injuries on her wouldn't be new for someone who'd come in contact with him. But he still didn't move past her.

"What you crying for?" He heard those words and it took him a moment to realize that the question had slipped from his own mouth. The give away was the expression of complete shame on her face. And then he was a goner. He didn't like when women cried. She could have been Stephanie and he would have still been concerned — then again, it would take more consideration and a little bit of blind, morbid curiosity.

But he knew deep down, a little, dead part of him just took interest in her problem because he had so many of his own. And after some consideration, he realized that his family — Naomi — would beat him up if he left this woman out there crying in the middle of the night. He didn't know why knowing that changed anything. He was supposed to be tired of caring. But there he was nonetheless.

"I um-" she started, gathering her hair in her hands, rolling her curls together at the side of her neck nervously. He took the time to survey the surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary. Fans were gone. He had waited that long before he'd ventured out of the building.

"You don't have to actually tell me." He amended, taking the moment to fully separate his body from her's. Things were getting awkward. "It's none of my business."

She laughed a small giggle. It made him smile a little — little upturn of the corners of his mouth. She cleared her throat, stepping further away from him as he just stood there wondering why he hadn't gone and made a beeline for his car yet.

Her hair had caught in the zipper of his hoodie, both of them laughing lightly as she stumbled back toward him so he could untangle her. But just like laughter, the moment was fleeting and all but gone when she opened her mouth to explain.

"It's not that serious now that I think of it." She shrugged, hugging her arms around herself. "I just frustrated… I was supposed to ride with Summer and Renee and they left without me. But I'm sure they didn't mean to."

Roman rolled his eyes and shook his head. Anything Renee related was actually, somehow, always Dean related and Roman was on a Dean sabbatical. He was walking away before he could really recognize that he'd thoroughly confused and insulted her by walking away without a thought. But he didn't stop moving.

Getting to his car he dumped his bags into the backseat and started the car. And in what felt like an abrupt turn of events, he was angry again. And slightly confused by what Sasha had let slip in catering. He was just… done. So doooooone that he could only sit in the front seat, clutching the steering wheel as if his sanity depended solely on his ability to breathe — the slow inhale through his nose and exhale out his mouth were the only noises in the car for a long while — and it took an enormously embarrassing amount of effort to not let the anger ruin him.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He chanted as he started his car and put on his seat belt. He was reversing out of his parking space, telling himself he would drive right away from that parking lot with no guilt attached to the action. But then again, he found that when he told himself to do something, he just ended up doing the opposite. With an agonizingly annoyed sigh, he was turning the corner, pulling up to where she was still standing, frantically texting away. Rolling down his window, he set his head on the back of the seat, looking at her, "Get in."

"What?" She looked up at him in disbelief, laughing nervously.

He got out of the car, bent over and flicked the tab that released the lock on his trunk. He walked over to her and grabbed the handle of her bag, "I'll give you a ride."

She looked to be contemplating it for a moment. She'd no doubt seen what he could do when he was angry, and he could tell the exact moment she got scared. She looked around, seeing only a few cars left. He noticed that she seemed to be contemplating it. He could see the exact moment she realized that all the other women were gone and she probably didn't know who anyone else left was…She swallowed thickly and nodded her head with a determined intake of breath. She was jogging to the passenger side of the car before either of them could consider changing their minds.

It was then that she realized that by getting in his car, she had silently agreed to accompany him to the next city and he probably didn't even remember her name. She watched him mutter obscenities to himself as he dumped her bag in his trunk.

The SUV shook as he slammed the trunk shut before walking back to the driver's side and getting in. He looked over at her briefly. He put on his seatbelt, motioning for her to do the same.

"I'm JoJo, by the way." She muttered, looking straight ahead, nervously as he started to drive off.

He cleared his throat, nodding like she had just said something dumb. "I knew that."

She snorted, knowing he was lying. And she didn't know why, but that made her laugh.


End file.
